The bell on the door rang.
“I’ll just fetch that tray,” said the young man, and ducked hastily back into the shop. To alert the hunters? Kehera stood by the curtained doorway. The urge to pull the curtain aside enough to let her see into the shop was nearly overwhelming, but she knew it would be stupid to risk letting the curtain be seen moving. She stood still, listening.
“May I assist you, sirs?” said the brisk, polite voice of the young man.
“It might be to your benefit if you could,” a heavy, deep voice answered, with a significant emphasis on the word “benefit.” “Have you seen a young woman in the last few minutes, tall, with light-colored hair? Dressed ragged, like she’d been on the road?”
Kehera held her breath. She undid her cloak and slipped it off, laid it gently on the floor and started unbraiding her hair with flying fingers.
“I only wish I had, sir,” said the young man regretfully. “Business has been slow of late. But I’m afraid I can’t help you. No one like that has come in here.”
“What’s through there?” said the heavy voice. Kehera had a feeling she knew where the owner of that voice was pointing. She hurried on the stays of her dress, fingers stiff with fear.
“Only a sitting room we use when business is slow, sir. As it has been lately, as I said. May I interest you in some sausages? Nothing better to keep up your energy in this cold weather. Or we have some very nice smoked cheeses—”
“Check that room,” said the heavy voice. Kehera shoved her boots out of sight under a chair and dove for the couch, ripping her dress in her haste to get out of it. Thank the Fortunate Gods for the floating candles! She dunked her head quickly in the water and threw it back over her shoulders, dripping heavily.
“Really, sir,” protested the young man, “this is hardly necessary, I assure you—” There was the sound of a minor scuffle.
Someone ripped the curtain aside. Kehera sat up on the couch, rubbing her hair briskly with her skirt. “Oh, darling—” she began, saw the men in the doorway, emitted a small shriek, and whipped the blanket from the couch up around her shift. The discarded skirt dropped to the floor, where she hoped that any casual glance would take it for a towel. Her hair, sodden and dark with water, dripped icily down her back.
“I’m so terribly sorry, my dear!” said the young man, and turned helplessly to the other men. “Sirs, please! My mother doesn’t know!”
One of the men smothered a laugh behind his hand. Another, owner of the heavy voice, said curtly, “Our apologies.” He grabbed the sniggering one by the arm and dragged him back, letting the curtain fall. Kehera knelt on the couch, clutching the blanket and trembling slightly.
The bell on the door chimed. There was a pause.
“Are you decent?” said the young man, from the other side of the curtain.
Kehera started. “Just a minute,” she said, and looked at her filthy and now damp dress with loathing. Even the pearls sewn into the hem couldn’t make it look attractive. She stood up and experimented with the blanket. Yes. Not wonderful, but acceptable. “Come in,” she called.
The young man brushed the curtain back and stepped in. He looked at Kehera and hastily averted his gaze. “I meant to tell you where the hide is, but there wasn’t time,” he said apologetically. “You were very clever, but—that is, you were very clever.” Was he blushing? He was. He must be younger than he looked.
“I was desperate,” Kehera said. “I was praying you weren’t going to give me away—I’m so grateful you didn’t. I hope I didn’t get you in any trouble with those men?”
“No, no, not at all.”
“Or with your mother?”
Their eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of the young man’s mouth. Kehera smiled back, and then lost control and started giggling.
The young man laughed with her, in a half-hysterical release of tension. “I can’t believe you did that! Did you see their faces?”
“Did you, when you said that about your mother?”
The young man shook his head, still laughing. He walked across the room to perch on a corner of the table. “You must have been inspired.”
“More like desperate.” Kehera sat down gingerly on the couch, trying not to lose control of the blanket.
“I’m a fool,” said the young man, striking himself in the forehead with the heel of one hand. He sprang back to his feet. “You need different clothes, of course. Here, I hope these’ll fit well enough for now.” He shoved the table aside and knelt to pry up some of the floorboards. Kehera watched with fascination as a whole section of the floor lifted up in his hands. He reached down and pulled up folded clothing, brown and tan.
“I don’t mean to be ungracious,” Kehera said tentatively, “but why are you helping me? Does this sort of thing happen often? I mean, forgive me for prying, but you do seem to be extremely well prepared, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
The young man grinned at her over his shoulder. “Anyone running from the redcloaks gets a place in the back parlor, that’s one of the rules. People help out. They don’t have us quite as sewn up here as they’d like to think. Someday we’ll see our province go back to Kosir—or so we hope.” He picked up his armful of cloth and stood up. He looked at her doubtfully, reddening slightly. “Uh, excuse me, but would you like a bath before you change?”
Kehera closed her eyes at the vision this offer summoned up after so many days on the road. “I would love a bath,” she said fervently.
“I’ll bring some water, then. More water, I mean. You already seem to have started on your hair. . . .” He grinned at her appreciatively and went on. “You’ll have to be quick, you know. I don’t think you’d better stay here very long, in case those redcloaks get suspicious and decide to come back for another look. As soon as you’re ready, we can decide what you should do next.” He hooked the curtain up and went into the outer shop. Kehera leaned against the doorframe and watched as he found a large basin and started to fill it from a spigot in the wall.
“Do you mind if I ask your name?” she asked suddenly. She couldn’t keep thinking of him as That Nice Young Man in the Sausage Shop.
“Teier Lamis. Everyone knows me,” he said cheerfully, and hefted the full basin with a grunt to carry it into the back room. He put it down without slopping much of the water out, which was pretty impressive, as big as the thing was. “The water’s not very warm, I’m afraid. Let me get you some towels. And soap. There you go. Need anything else?” Was it significant, that he didn’t ask her name in return?
Kehera accepted both towels and soap, shook her head at his question, and let him retreat beyond the curtain. The basin wasn’t big enough to sit in, of course, and the water wasn’t warm enough to be very inviting anyway. Kehera did the best she could standing up, trying to confine her dripping to the towels. It was much better than nothing, anyway. Amazing the things one could learn to appreciate.
The new clothing smelled strongly of camphor, but at least it was a clean smell, she told herself. There was a brown skirt and a matching brown outer tunic to go over a light tan blouse with long puffed sleeves. The skirt was a little too short, but not so much as to draw the eye. She got her hold-out pouch from the pile of damp cloth that she had been wearing and strapped it back to her leg, taking an odd sort of comfort from the now-familiar weight.
“I’m ready,” she called, and Teier Lamis came in quickly. He carried yet another bowl of water, which he set on the table. The look he gave her was approving. “You look much better,” he said. “I think you’d better dye your hair, though. Not many people have hair like that.”
“Don’t tell me you have dye?”
“I live to serve.” Teier extracted a twist of paper from his pocket with a flourish. “It’s for coloring some of the sausages, but it’ll also turn your hair dark brown. My mother used it when she started going gray. Lasts pretty well too. I’ll give you another packet.”
“Thank you.” Kehera took the packet. “How am I supp
osed to do this without getting it all over my new clothes?”
Teier turned diffident again. “Well, uh, I think it would be fastest if you were to, you know, sit at the table and let me do it. . . .”
“Good idea.” She sat down with her back to the table, sweeping her wet hair behind her shoulders with both hands.
Teier stirred the powder into the water, gathered up her hair, and started to work in the dye. It was a lot like having Eilisè wash her hair with the delicate scented soaps used for special occasions. Except completely different. Kehera winced away from the thought, expecting a surge of grief, but the emotion she felt was only a shadow of what there had been. Had grief, too, been lost somewhere in the silent cold of the pass? Too high a price, she thought, and then wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that. But maybe she was just tired. If the lingering numbness made it easier to think through the exhaustion, that would be helpful. She had better try to figure everything out now, then, before unbearable grief and fear crashed over her again like the black storms of winter.
Teier finished and wrapped her hair in a towel, helping her sit up. “Better rub it dry. Do you want to keep those?” He gestured toward the heap of discarded clothing.
Kehera thought of the pearls in the hem of the skirt. “Yes, please.”
“Amazing,” said the young man. “No offense. Now, let me get that sampler platter and you can tell me what else you need.”
The young man, relieved that Kehera actually knew what to do next, was perfectly willing to show her the way to Kereis’s shop. It apparently wasn’t even very far. He handed her a basket of sausages to complete her disguise and then led her out of his shop, pausing to lock the door behind them with a little brass key. Kehera stood beside him nervously, trying not to look like a fugitive.
“Walk like you can’t imagine why anyone should be interested in you,” the young man advised her. “Nothing makes a person look so ordinary as a basket full of sausages, you know.” He offered her his arm, smiling.
It was a ten-minute walk through lightly peopled streets. No one showed the slightest interest in them, although once, spotting a couple of redcloaks, Teier whisked them quickly into a shop. They spent several uneasy moments examining scented candles and fancy perfumed soaps while the redcloaks passed by. Teier insisted on buying Kehera a bit of hard soap in the shape of a swan, scented like sweet lemon.
“It surpasses even camphor,” she murmured gravely, and put it away carefully in a pocket while he chortled.
But when they reached Kereis’s shop, it was closed and locked, the shutters shut over the windows and two redcloaks stationed at the door.
Teier and Kehera walked past on the other side of the street, pretending not to see the redcloaks, and turned a corner, strolling on in a random direction. “So, new plan,” he said to her, his voice just a little strained. “Any ideas?”
Kehera shook her head mutely. She blinked hard and rubbed her eyes, feeling like she should cry, but too tired even for that. It was so hard. Everything was so hard. She wanted to just stop and magically find herself at home and everything back the way it had been, the way it should be, Eilisè humming in the next room and Tiro barging in to tell her some old tale about the servants of the Gods that he’d read in some dusty book that made sense of everything that had happened. . . . Tiro at least might someday tell her old stories. Eilisè would never again sing any songs at all. Kehera might never even have a chance to tell Eilisè’s mother how Eilisè had saved her life.
She had no idea at all how to get home now. She felt like she would never have another idea as long as she lived.
“All right,” the young man said gently, and they walked for a while in silence. Then he said, “I’m not asking who’s after you. Someone powerful, someone who can set the redcloaks hunting, obviously, and that’s enough for me. You need to hide for a while, right? We can find a place. You could stay with my mother, maybe. Or do you need to get clear away from Enchar, hide in the country?”
Kehera nodded helplessly. That was what she needed. To get away. To hide. If she couldn’t go back through Anha Pass . . . she had no choice, obviously, but to go south. The only pass that was open all winter was Roh, in Eäneté. She had no idea how she could possibly get all the way to Eäneté without being caught. But the thought of traveling south felt right somehow, and no other possibilities came to mind.
She didn’t see how she could possibly wait for Quòn. She guessed something had gone terribly wrong, because how else had her enemies learned about Kereis’s shop? She couldn’t imagine what could have stopped Quòn, but Nomoris had said he was too late. And now those soldiers were right there in her way. She greatly feared she was on her own—and if not, then she had to trust Quòn would find her no matter that she left the path he’d meant her to take. She looked anxiously at Teier, wondering how far he was willing—or able—to help her. “I need to get through Roh Pass,” she told him in a low voice.
“Roh!” he exclaimed, but quietly. Then he was silent for a time while they walked on. But at last he drew her to a stop, looking at her seriously. “It’s a long way. You’ll have to leave Enchar, travel right through Kimsè and far into Eäneté. They say no one comes or goes through Roh Pass save under the eye of the Wolf Duke, and they say the yellow eyes of the Wolf notice everything that moves.”
Kehera nodded, but she wasn’t actually listening. She felt overwhelmed enough without counting off the obstacles. Or listening to someone else count them off. “If Roh is the only pass open all winter, then it has to be Roh. If I can get to Eäneté, I’ll find a way.”
“Well . . .” The young man hesitated. “Well, if you have to travel quietly, the journey will probably take you some weeks. I doubt you’ll reach Eäneté until after the Month of Frost turns to the Iron Hinge Month, and then you’ll be looking to cross through the pass at the worst time of year.” When she did not seem deterred by this idea, he went on, a trifle reluctantly. “But . . . if you’re sure, then I know a way that might work. I know . . . a man. He smuggles people sometimes. For a fee, of course.” He gave her a doubtful look, clearly wondering if she could pay.
“Can he be trusted?” Kehera asked, avoiding the other question for the moment.
“I think so. He’s honest. Everyone says so. If you pay him, he’ll do what you hire him for and won’t try to gouge you again halfway to Eäneté. But I don’t think you’ll like his method.”
As it turned out, Teier was right. Kehera hated everything about the proposed method.
8
On the twenty-eighth day of the Month of Frost, in the high country of Eäneté, snow fell from a pewter sky.
The town and the mountains beyond were lost to the snow, which constricted the world to a narrow view of blowing white. The snow worried Innisth. A storm such as this might drive a hunting party to shelter. Cold, clear winter weather: that was best for hunting. Scent lingered in the cold, and the voices of the hounds carried well in the crystalline air. But this . . . No one hunted in such weather.
This storm had descended days ago, and since then broken only twice, each time briefly, before closing in again. That would not matter if Deconniy’s party had reached Geif’s lodge, but if they had been forced into shelter too early, then he did not see how his young captain could recover the plan. He turned over ideas in his mind, looking for another that might work as well. Unfortunately, killing Laören and giving his body to the wolves still seemed impractical.
Gereth rapped quietly on the doorframe and came in. He was not smiling, Innisth saw at once, and consciously forced himself to relax his shoulders because he would not allow himself to appear concerned before his household.
“Captain Deconniy has returned, Your Grace,” Gereth told him. “Lord Laören and his servants chose not to return with him, as Lord Laören decided suddenly that it would be best if he went on to the town of Tisain to speak to Lord Geif about urgent business.”
“This seems promising,” Innisth observed, his tone n
eutral. “I look forward to hearing the full report. You may admit Deconniy at once.”
“Ah. As perhaps Your Grace has ascertained, it’s possible that not everything in the tale will please you.”
“I see.” The duke considered what might have happened to put that note of constraint into his seneschal’s voice, and Gereth was right: The possibilities that seemed most likely did not please him. He said, his tone remote, “Nevertheless, you may admit him.”
“Your Grace.” Gereth went out, and Innisth heard muffled voices. Then the seneschal returned, this time accompanied by the young captain.
Deconniy stood straight and looked Innisth directly in the face, but the duke could not miss his pallor, which was more than weariness and cold.
“All went well,” Deconniy said immediately, his tone crisply professional. “I spoke to your huntsman and made sure we rode toward Tisain; we put up a stag at nearly the ideal place and rode hard after it, and your huntsman made sure when it circled back north that we lost it and went on south and east. The huntsman did a good job all through, Your Grace; he made it look just right, and I want to commend him.”
Innisth inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“So we were well placed when the snow began. I told your huntsman to declare it looked like a blizzard—so it proved, of course—and then I said I knew of a hunting lodge where we could pass the days comfortably; not in Eäneté, but as Lord Laören was of our number, that would not signify. So we came to the lodge after a hard ride. Geif’s staff made us welcome, of course, because of Laören, and the next day one of his people turned up the first of your papers, Your Grace, carelessly left out in Geif’s bedroom, which of course Laören had taken for his own. Once Laören became suspicious, he quickly found the base coins and the accounts. Thus, when the storm lifted, he took his people and went on to find Lord Geif at his own house.”
Winter of Ice and Iron Page 16